


Sharp Scratch.

by rubyrosettared



Category: Law and Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: AU, Gen, What if?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyrosettared/pseuds/rubyrosettared
Summary: What if it wasn't Frances Goren at Carmel Ridge? Completely AU. Originally written in 2008 and up at the other site, i've updated  and improved it slightly. All errors as always, are my own. Appreciate your thoughts.





	

**Sharp Scratch.**

_“Sharp scratch”_ The quiet feminine voice is as familiar as breathing to him. He feels the cool sting of the antiseptic wipe against his skin and the sharp but tiny bite of pain in his upper arm. He tenses against it; he may have even flinched a little bit. He feels fingers brush briefly against the sore spot and then the sleeve of his t-shirt is being rolled down once more.His scattered thoughts begin to find some semblance of order amidst the usual chaos. It creates order but on the other hand, the world around him becomes dull and slow. He thinks that if he’s a good boy then he won’t have to have the sharp scratch any more. And he is good; he does as he’s told, co-operates where necessary and is polite and good-natured for the most part. He tries to stay calm, even when it’s especially hard not to. These are the times when the darkness in his head grows and festers and brews until black rage erupts. He knows that when that happens, they take him somewhere quiet and lonely and he’ll go to sleep for a while. When he sleeps, no one talks to him.

The sharp scratch helps to keep the voices quiet. He lives for the day when he won’t need it to keep them silent. Maybe when that happens, he’ll be able to leave here forever. He often thinks about that day happening, if ever and it’s precious to him.

* * *

 

 “You have a visitor today.”

 He smiles. He loves to receive visitors. “Is it Eames?” He lifts his head hopefully and looks up at the blonde nurse; he notices how her dark brown eyes sparkle when she smiles.

“It’s not Eames, it’s your mum again.” He tries to place her accent, it’s either British or Australian. He frowns and looks away. He’s having trouble recognising it.

“Okay.” His voice becomes subdued.

“Don’t you want to see her?”

He lifts his head again and smiles somewhat vacantly at her. “Yes.”

* * *

 

Frances lifts her head when the door opens. She smiles and gets to her feet when she sees him standing behind the nurse, towering over her as he towers over everyone else. God only knows where his height comes from; it isn’t as though she or Bill had been especially blessed. Even Frank isn’t excessively tall. One of his doctors thinks that it might be a genetic fluke and a few have expressed a worry that if one his rages blows out of control then he could seriously hurt someone one day. So far he hasn’t.  She casts the thought aside as he comes towards her, his precious folder clutched to his chest, a shy smile on his face.

“Hey sweetheart,” she greets softly. She watches him put the folder down onto the table between them and come around. They embrace.

“Hey mom,” he replies and they sit down. He sits sideways, offering her his profile and she notices that his hair is getting long again. Immediately he reaches for his folder and opens it. His doctors allow him the folder on the promise that it’s checked regularly for contraband of any description. It comes almost everywhere with him, almost like a security blanket. He turns his attention to the yellow writing pad and he extracts his pencil and begins to write. Frances watches him as he does so, his script is small and scribbled, almost illegible.

“How have you been today?” she asks him.

“Okay,” he replies, still writing. She’s asked him more than once what he’s writing but all that he’ll say was ‘just notes mom, just notes’ in a distracted manner.

“Alex sends her love, she hopes to come by and see you next week sometime.” That gets his attention and he lifts his head and looks at her.

“Did she follow that lead I gave you?” His expression becomes intense. Frances just regards him, not sure how to answer.

“I don’t know honey, I think she’s still working on it,” she tells him instead. He seems to give her answer some thought

“Oh,” he sighs and then goes back to his almost manic scribbling. Then he pauses again as a thought seems to occur to him. “What about Frank? He’s not stealing your money again is he?”

“He doesn’t steal my money,” she sighs. He drops his pen and swings in his seat to look at her, his expression defensive, a little annoyed.

“He’s sneaky mom, you gotta watch him all the time. More than likely he’s at the track or sticking it up his arm…”

“Bobby, he’s a scientist, he makes enough money. And he doesn’t go to the track, he doesn’t take drugs…”

 Bobby begins to shake his head. “You don’t know that mom…you’re not with him all the time, you don’t know what he…gets up to…”

 "Sweetheart, your brother is fine. Alex is fine too.” His frown deepens and she moves closer to him and places a finger over his mouth. “Please. No more. For me?” He sighs in irritation. “Otherwise you’ll have to go back to your room and I won’t be able to visit you next week or bring…Eames….” She lowers her hand.

“Okay…okay…but…”

 “Ah!…what did I tell you? No more Bobby, not another word!”  And he lowers his head, suitably chastised.

* * *

 

The visit is over far too quickly and Frances thinks her heart will break when his nurse appears to take him back to his room. He hugs her tightly and picks up his folder. She watches him leave the visiting room, feeling as though her heart will shatter into irreparable pieces in her chest.

She thinks about him constantly. During her long hours in the local library she’ll stack the shelves in the children’s section and remember the times when she’d sit with him and read to him. He used to cling to every word spoken to him. He possessed such a vital, vivid imagination. She had great hopes for her youngest son. But she had begun to see the signs when he turned fourteen, when puberty struck. His moods turned incredibly dark and he would veer from deep dark introspection to wild, manic highs. He became paranoid, suffered tumultuous rages and she lost count how many times he trashed his room. His father hadn’t been able to cope and walked away from them before he turned fifteen. That had sent him into a tailspin of raw pure emotion and his symptoms manifested themselves more violently than ever. By the time he was seventeen he was completely out of control, even after countless visits to doctors and psychiatrists, nothing could be done and it was with a heavy heart that Frances Goren had her youngest child institutionalised. It was the start of a pattern, the start of a fight. 

She sits in Dr Shimo’s office and stares out of the window. The sky is iron grey with rain threatening. Outside it’s still warm and that can only mean one thing, a storm is brewing. She hopes to God that she’s wrong because Bobby hates thunderstorms; they literally drive him out of his mind. She has witnessed him curl his big body into the tightest ball possible and tremble and shake as lightning flashed and thunder roared. He covers his ears with his big hands when the rain rattles off the windows and sometimes he’ll scream as if in agony until the weather quietens and the storm passes. If it promises to be a bad storm, he’ll be sedated.

“How do you think Bobby was today?” Frances turns her head and looks at his doctor. She thinks for a moment or two.

“A little distracted. He’s started warning me about Frank again.” She watches him frown deeply.

“Do you think he’s building up to another crisis?”

Frances regards him and then shrugs.  “Maybe. It’s happened before,” she mutters.

“He wants to leave here eventually,” the doctor continues and sees the look of surprise Frances sent him.

“Do you think that’ll happen?” It all depends on so much, getting his medication right, trusting him to take it regularly, making sure that he can cope outside of the institution he’d spent the last twenty years in and out of. So far, he’s been here constantly for the last ten.

“Right now? I don’t think so. But it’s something to work towards.”

Frances sighs then. “We’ve talked about this for years Doctor Shimo, I think we both know that it won’t happen, at least not right now.”

The doctor nods in agreement.  “Could you cope with him at home again?”

Frances wants to tell him that of course she could; he’s her son, but in the ten years that have passed since his last admission, her health isn’t what it used to be. Regretfully she shakes her head and swallows against the lump in her throat and fights back fresh tears.

* * *

 

She leaves his office as the first rumble of thunder vibrates through the building. She glances up at the ceiling. Oh great. All around her she hears the patients react, low moans, animal like howls, the staff are going to have a busy few hours ahead of them. She pauses and turns, in time to see Doctor Shimo emerge from his office.

“Doctor Shimo?” He turns and looks enquiringly at her.

“I need to see Bobby.”

“I was just on my way to see him.” He holds out an arm for her to accompany him.

* * *

 

There are a couple of male nurses outside of his room. Frances feels her stomach dip.

She follows the doctor into her son’s room. She sees his nurse standing by his bed and her brown eyes are wide. Bobby is wedged in a corner of his room, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes.

“We came to sedate him,” she explains.

“She’s going to kill me! She’s got you all fooled, she’s not who she says she is!” Bobby exclaims.

The nurse looks at them both, her expression regretful. “He’s been calling me Nicole for the last half hour and he won’t let me near him.”

Frances sighs quietly. She and the doctor exchange a look.

“Let me talk to him,” she requests.

* * *

 

Her big tall son with all of his fears and all of his demons is reduced to this.  She remembers the shy little boy with the inquisitive brown eyes and the never-ending questions. She remembers the way he would look at her; how he would bring a book with him, crawl onto the sofa beside her and ask her to read to him. She remembers feeling his warm body snuggled up against his as she did so and she remembers their conversations during their shared chores when he’d talk about becoming a soldier and serving his country, but instead he’s reduced to this.

“What are you doing here?” he stammers as she walks towards him.

“I’m here to see you,” she answers as calmly as she can. She wants to cry instead. He stares at her in confusion.

“How did you get out of the hospital? You…you shouldn’t be here.” His eyes are wide.

“Baby…” she whispers. He’s trembling, he’s so, so scared.

“She…she’s trying to kill me…Nicole…is trying to kill me!”  he exclaims,  pointing over her shoulder.

“That’s not Nicole honey, that’s Elizabeth and she takes care of you,” she gently reminds him.

He shakes his head frantically. “No…no…she wants you to think that but she’s smart…she stole her identity, it's what she...does. Her name is Nicole Wallace and she’s…very dangerous… _mom_ …” His expression is so earnest that for one brief shadow of a second, she almost believes him. With a shaking hand she reaches up and caresses his face, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. Tears slip out of his eyes and dampen her fingers.

“Darling…you’re having an episode…you’re not well. Let Elizabeth help you, let Doctor Shimo help you this time,” she beseeches. He stares at her and she can almost read his thoughts. He genuinely believes everything that he claims. It isn’t the first time he’s made these claims.  At the same time Elizabeth comes to stand to one side of her whilst the nurses come to her other.

She watches Bobby as he watches Elizabeth, hears her murmur “sharp scratch” and then inject him with the sedative. She moves out of the way as the nurses move in and catch him as the soporific effect of the drug takes hold and his knees sag.

* * *

 

It’s pouring with rain when Frances leaves the hospital.  The storm rages on above her in all its rage but it’s nothing compared to the one battling inside of her. The tears she sheds mingle with the rain that soaks her. No one will see her cry, she’s determined about that. No one has seen her shed a tear over her poor boy and they still won’t. He needs her to be strong for him and by God she will be.

* * *

 

She sits in her apartment and stares into the cup of coffee she has cradled in her hands. She sighs heavily and gets to her feet. She has to call Doctor Shimo again and see how Bobby is doing. She glances at her watch. She’ll call him in the morning instead. She turns her head when she hears the key in the lock. The door opens and Frank appears, accompanied by Alex.

“Hey ma,” her eldest son greets warmly and goes to her, kissing her cheek. She smiles absently and looks at her daughter in law. For some reason, when Bobby found out that his sister in law was a cop, he was drawn to her. A strange calmness comes over him when she visits and he’ll stare at her and Alex Eames, to her credit is unfazed by it, and takes it in her stride.

“How was Bobby today?” Frank enquires as he shrugs off his overcoat. His mother doesn’t immediately reply and he knows that today hasn’t been a good day.

“It was the weather wasn’t it? He hates it when it storms,” Alex interrupts, walking towards her. Frances just shrugs.

“He had another breakdown?” Frank sounds surprised and it is all Frances can do to nod. She then turns and goes to retrieve her purse from the coffee table. Both of them watch her open it and extract two or three sheets of lined paper, folded in four. She sighs and unfolds it and looks at it for a moment. Then she hands it to Alex and watches her read it. She lifts her head and looks at her.

“That’s what he writes all day,” Frances explains. Alex looks back at the paper, at the words scribbled along the lines.

 

_'Sharp scratch...sharp scratch...sharp scratch...'_

   

 

 


End file.
